His Plus-One
by Believer29
Summary: One-shot, NinexRose, set immediately after The Unquiet Dead, leading into Aliens of London. "I'm so glad I met you." And in that moment of pending doom, he felt clarity in having her by his side, as if it could never have been any other way.


**Writer's note: Just a follow-up to my between-episode one-shot "First Date." This one is set immediately following The Unquiet Dead, leading into Aliens of London (before the Doctor finds the Missing Persons poster of Rose.) Feedback would be wonderful, my lovelies! Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: Doctor Who owns me, not the other way around, m'kay?**

"_Doesn't that change history if he writes about blue ghosts? "  
"In a week's time it's 1870, and that's the year he dies. Sorry. He'll never get to tell his story."  
"Oh, no. He was so nice."  
"But in your time, he was already dead. We've brought him back to life, and he's more alive now than he's ever been, old Charlie boy. Let's give him one last surprise."_

As the TARDIS dematerialised, the console room shuddered and the time rotor pulsed and wheezed. It was the best sound in the universe, and being an expert time and space traveller, the Doctor was uniquely qualified in that statement. The glow of the console, the groan of the engines, and the gentle, constant presence of the TARDIS in his mind was grounding and comforting. It was home. And somehow, the beautiful blonde simple human seemed to belong there, too. He would have to take her back to London soon, and he could only hope that she would be coming back to him. Back to the TARDIS. Back home. Of course, they'd only been together a few days, she wouldn't consider the ship to be her home, yet.

Although he fiddled with the console controls, making adjustments to their flight, he was hyper-aware of her presence, of every breath, every movement. The way her up-do was loosened and blonde tresses escaped onto her exposed neck. The rise and fall of her chest, the way her breasts swelled up, the pale bare flesh spilling over the top of her constricted corset. Her full lips. Slender fingers that clutched as she gathered her skirt before sinking into the jump seat, which moved slightly under her weight. The far-away gaze in her whiskey-brown eyes, endless pools of compassion and love and all those wonderful things that defined the best of humanity. Funny little humans.

"Righto, we're in the time vortex, where do you want to go next?" he spoke gently, clearly she deep in thought, possibly upset, but he didn't want to pry if she'd rather not talk about it. And quite frankly if she _did _want to talk about it, he wasn't sure what to say.

"It's not fair." Her doe-eyes glistened as she fought back tears. He turned, leaning against the console, facing her, arms crossed. He waited patiently for her to elaborate.

"Why did she have to die?" She looked up at him, questioningly, eyes full of confusion, longing to understand, to make sense of the chaos.

"She saved the world," he stated simply, as if it were obvious. His statement was one of nonchalance, but his voice was calm and reassuring. "Saved our lives."

"But nobody will ever know," Rose whispered.

"We know," he looked at her expectantly, eyebrows raised. Surely the simple knowledge of Gwenyth's sacrifice would be consolation enough for Rose, who was made of stronger stuff than her outward appearance gave her credit for.

Rose smiled a little, and he let out a silent breath of relief. She'd watched her planet burn, she'd met a wide variety of aliens, and she'd seen death. And she could still muster a tiny smile. Yes, Rose Tyler was made of strong stuff. He'd only ever taken the best for companions, and this remarkable human made the list.

"Yeah." She wiped her eyes and sniffed. "Look at me, crying over something that happened a hundred years ago."

"Hundred and thirty-six," he corrected matter-of-factly, before turning back to the console monitor, flicking a few switches. "You look tired."

"A bit, yeah," she mumbled, followed by a yawn.

"Well, I've got a couple things to do here, why don't you go have a break, get changed, have a cuppa tea, if you want. Kitchen's that way." He nodded towards the corridor.

"Where am I going to sleep?" She queried.

He glanced up from the controls, giving her an odd look. "In your bedroom."

"I have a bedroom here?"

"Well, yeah. It should be somewhere between here and the wardrobe. The TARDIS should point it out, I think she likes you," he patted a coral strut affectionately.

She waited for him to explain further, but he didn't. "Off you pop," he gestured towards the corridor.

"Okay," she gingerly left the console room, her lightly heeled shoes clicking on the grated floor.

He listened until her footsteps were gone, before he took her spot on the jump seat, gazed up at the ceiling, and let out a long breath. He'd put her in the path of danger, again. To be more accurate, though, she'd been so adamant to stay by his side, putting her own life at risk was technically her choice. That fact hadn't escaped him at all.

It struck him how his hand felt so empty without her fingers laced through his. He didn't realise immediately that he missed it, until he looked down at his rough hands. She probably didn't realise how very intimate it was to him, something so simple as a touch. It was warm and soothing, and he found himself craving it in her absence. He'd spent so much time alone, just him and his TARDIS. The last of the Time Lords.  
They might have died today, stuck in that cellar, surrounded by the Gelth-possessed corpses. And in that moment of pending doom, he felt clarity in having her by his side, as if it could never have been any other way. He'd let his guard down, told her the truth. How very, very glad he was to have met her. And his hearts thumped wildly when she grinned and responded in kind.

And that in itself lead to another problem. She didn't care that she was going to die. Well, she did care – she was frightened, after all. But she didn't care as much as she should have, and that bothered him.  
_She's only nineteen, _he shook his head. She was constantly going to be in danger, travelling with him, he had told her that, several times now, but she was still here.  
Which led to the penultimate question. Was he going to keep her, at her own risk, just to abate his loneliness?

"I found the kitchen," she announced, sticking her head around the corner. "I'm making tea, d'you want one?"

He turned and smiled. "Yeah."

He rose from the jump seat and followed her towards the kitchen. She had pulled her hair loose, and it danced about the soft curves of her shoulders. She had changed, and was wearing her tracksuit and grey t-shirt.

They shared a cup of tea together, mostly in comfortable silence, but she did ask a few questions, one of which was if he slept at all. He'd explained he didn't need much sleep, superior Time Lord physiology and all that. She'd rolled her eyes at him, with another of those smiles he'd grown to love so much. She was positively beautiful, just raw beauty, untamed, untouched. She wore her hoop earrings and kept a light smattering of makeup on her face, but he wished she wouldn't. He wanted to see what was underneath, not what her society expected her to look like.

"Is it alright if I go home, check on Mum?" she queried.

"Yep," he said cheerfully, downing the last of his tea. "No time like the present." He laughed at his relative-time joke. She didn't get it.

She fetched her hoodie, whilst he piloted the TARDIS back to the Powell Estate, landing with ease, and shortly after he followed her out the door.

"How long have I been gone?" she looked up at the overcast sky and grey multi-storey buildings of the estate.

"About twelve hours," he said, leaning on his beloved police box, crossing his arms and ankles. He recalled a comment from her earlier, _you think you're so impressive._ Oh, but he was so impressive. Time machine, five billion years in her future, a hundred and thirty-six years in her past...

"Oh," she laughed again at the impossibility of it all, and he chuckled, a wide grin on his face. "Right, I won't be long," she continued, "I just wanna see my Mum."

"What are you gonna tell her?"

"I don't know," she feigned a contemplative expression. "I've been to the year 5 billion and only been gone, what, twelve hours? No, I'll just tell her I spent the night at Shareen's. See you later." She waved, walking off.

He grinned and nodded at her.

"Oh," she turned back to him, waving an accusing finger at him. "Don't you disappear."

_Never. _He smiled again, raising his eyebrows and giving her a nod of understanding.

She left, and he leaned against the TARDIS, glancing at his surroundings, and the improbable situation he found himself in. He felt like a monster inside, a killer, doomed to roam the universe alone for the rest of his very long life. But Rose Tyler was a breath of fresh air to a drowning man, and she didn't even realise it, not really. She'd casually scooted off to visit her Mum, but she was coming back to the TARDIS, to him.

_Fantastic._


End file.
